Ripping of Human Soul: The 28th Hunger Games
by BrieflySweet
Summary: "It dispenses an uneasy feeling in my stomach to know that other tributes and the Capitol will take advantage of this. And it makes me ashamed of the entire human race." 24 tributes must fight to keep control of their mind and soul in the restless 28th Hunger Games arena. Rated T for language and implied material.
1. District 6 Reaping and Chariot

District 6 Isadora Bridge, 16

Okay tell me you're kidding me right? I thought that this year had been my year but we get all these wacko tributes that may or may not be a threat. It's hard to tell since they're all so...different. We get these dumb mental ones from one, a pair of bears from two, and a wackjob from 4 it's so unbelievable. Only the District 4 male looks decent enough to talk to. I know Careers don't usually talk to us other Districts but if anyone, I consider myself a Career and once I show them my skills I'll have them begging for me to join their alliance. My plan is to work myself to the top of the food chain and then cosume the rest, bit by bit.

I open my purse and take out my mirror checking my makeup. I apply a fresh coat of pink lip gloss and smoosh my lips together to spread it out. My district partner opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it and turns around again. I roll my eyes. Just because I come from one of the weathliest families in my district doesn't mean poor people have the right to be jealous. In fact, they are beneath me, and I will rid all who gets in my way of winning.

I kick off my shoes and then replay District 6's Reapings. There's our idiotic escort Havenger, who has difficulty trying to pick up slips of paper with her nails, or should I say talons. I examine my own hands. Once I win I'll get a makeover too. I mean I like my curly light brown hair and round blue eyes but I think I'll go for pink hair and violet eyes.

Havenger manages to snag one of the slips of paper near the edge and she holds it up high in the air for a second before reading the name. "Delia Lar-"

"I VOLUNTEER!" Aha! There I am running up the steps. I watch as I snatched the mike from a very surprised Havenger. "My name is Isadora Bridge, like if you didn't know, and I want the middle house in the Victor's Village!" I glare at the screen as the District 6 crowd murmur among themselves. Look I know volunteers aren't common but we get those once in awhile, and usually they are hotcakes like me who have been secretly training themselves with their district specialty for years. Our District really needs to get an academy so we can train like Careers and get treated like them. But we can't afford it-pathetic. I'll fund one myself once I win. And my entire family(parents, two younger brothers, two younger sisters), rich as they are, are wimps! I mean they were all crying and saying much they miss'll me. Like I'm not coming back! That's why I decided to ignore them in the Justice Building. Hey, the cams are on and I can't afford to look weak, right? I'm not weak anyways. I'm rich and smart and everything a Victor should be in the first place.

Havenger is now looking pleased, giddily applying eyeshadow to her left cheekbone. "Ladies and Gentleman, we have a volunteer this year! Do we have any for the boys?" Silence in the square. We hear the low buzzing of the bees. "Well then, I'll just go pick our male tribute!"

I flick off the TV as Havenger once again goes through the trouble of picking up a slip of paper. "Well, well, well, look at who we have here," I smirk at my district partner, who had just walked in with his hands in his pockets, "My, my, Sherbet, ain't you a piece of sugar waiting to be toyed with." Sherbet looks uncomfortable and decides not to get too close to me. I smirk at this, too. (Who names their kids, GUY kids, Sherbert?! It just isn't done.)

"Uh, look, I want to talk to you." Sherbet says to ground, shuffling from foot to foot. I want to bite his ears, they stick out so much. "Javica...she wants us...to form an alliance..."

I try not to, but I spat out the cocoa I was sipping and began to half-choke half-laugh. Sherbet looks terrified but I pay him no attention. Our mentor is so young and idiotic at times. Sherbet's just beneath me. If this were the arena I'd kill him in a flash before he knew what had happened. "I don't think so," I reply carefully, mocking my concern, "I was planning to ally with some other people." This makes Sherbet's eyes grow to the size of nuclear bombs. "If you're talking about-about the Careers, I don't think that's such a good idea..."

I swung my feet off the couch. "And why the fuck not? So I can ally with you? You mean nothing to me. You won't even survive five seconds into the Games. They always laugh at pathetic bloodbaths like you."

Sherbet winces at my words and I curse under my breath. Shoot, will he snitch to our mentor on me? I better fix this fast.

"B-but we're s-supposed t-to b-be...we come from the same district..." Sherbet looks uncertain of where he's going so I decide to finish this for him. I leapt onto him (I'm kind of tall), sending him crashing onto the ground on his stomach. He groans as I yank his hair with all my might. He makes a low moaning sound as I knee him in the ribs. Then I flip his body so he's on his back and punch him repeatedly in the jaw.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!" Javica comes barging in, her face in a red hot fury. She pulls me from Sherbet and throws me against the wall. I land on my feet, unhurt. Sherbet looks pretty bad, though, even in Javica's arms. He's got a purple eye and a throbbing jaw. I rub my elbow. My makeup must look horrible right now...so is Javica. Her face doesn't look so pretty when she's glaring daggers.

"JUST WHAT IN PANEM WERE YOU THINKING, GETTING INTO A FIGHT ON THE TRAIN! IF THERE'S ANY ANYONE YOU SHOULD ALLY WITH, IT'S YOUR DISTRICT PARTNER! HOW DARE YOU HURT SHERBET BEFORE THE GAMES! IF ANY SPONSORS HAD SEEN YOU THEY'D..." Javica trailed off, looking distressed but furious. I stretched my lips into a glossy smirk. If any sponsors had seen me, they'd sponsor me without a second thought.

I suppress a giant yawn when Javica starts to chew me out about my strategies. She's saying crap like how everyone will think I'm dangerous, that I'm a threat so I need to be a major target, the Careers can't be trusted, she won't talk to the Career mentors for me...blah, blah, blah it all gets old so I just stuck out my middle finger at her and she shut right up. Grinning I walked out of the room without another word.

* * *

District 6 Sherbet Genesis, 15

I just can't stop thinking about Isadora even when three odd creatures are plucking and prodding at my skin. She was so vicious, so relentless, so...cruel. There is definitely something wrong with her, I decide. I am going to avoid her in the arena because I think she is one of those insane types that would kill even her family for her own gain and would be pleased to give slow, painful deaths. Our district's only had a few other volunteers before, but they didn't want to and all of them were very different from her. Less sadistic, I mean.

I can't help the small whimper that escapes from my lips as one of the Capitol creatures yank rather roughly at my leg. I've been ran over by a piece of transportation when I was six-luckily, only my legs were involved and I wasn't seriously damaged. But to this day it's difficult for me to run fast, walk straight, and there are certain spots where gentle touches feel like a merciless ring of consuming fire. I don't see how this is going to help me in the arena. Maybe if I talked to the Capitol, they would fix it...and make some it worse. Or worst of all they will kill me. I've always been afraid of death, always been a coward and that's why when my father was beaten to a bloody pulp right in front of me I never did anything to stop the Peacekeepers. I was too afraid they would hurt me. Am I just a selfish piece of crap or what?

Well now it's just my nine-year-old brother, my mother, and me making the most out of life. Everytime I think that I want to chuckle darkly. We tamper with trinkets and models of little crafts and stuff- we need to eat. We were so poor for awhile that my brother and I stopped going to school to help our mother in the family business. We have never gone back since, and there is nothing more that I regret now. Now I'm going to die without ever telling my crush that I liked her. I know I should be complaining that my name is Sherbet, but I actually kind of like it. Hey, where else would you find a guy named Sherbet Genesis?

Your answer: Trapped as a victim in the Capitol.

My stylist comes in-I haven't noticed that the three creatures are finished and gone-he examines my skinny, scrawny body full of bruises. "Well, well, well," he says, clicking his tongue with every syllable, "I think you need to put on a few pounds before entering the arena, no? And you have already gotten into a fight, oh my. This year's Games are going to be egg-CITING." I swallow hard, but he doesn't notice. He instead gets out a clipboard, a pen, and some measuring tape. He measures every inch of me, leaving me feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable. Finally he tells me to close my eyes. As much as I was frightened, Javica had told me to do everything and anything the stylists tell me to.

When I'm finally allowed to open my eyes it's hard to hide my dismay. I'm dressed-or shoved inside, for that matter, a suit studded with little leather bags and pouches that look like I'm a sea captain. I am given a conductor's cap for the final touch. My stylist claps his hands in glee while I clap in dismay. But I'm also clapping because Isadora looks even more ridiculous than I do. Thank goodness I'm a guy; Isadora's face was smeared with red, gold, pink, and blue makeup that looked like a rainbow had vomitted on her. Her hair was pulled into a tight braid where she couldn't show off its texture or its shine. The scowl on her face deepened her ugliness. For the first time, she was as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside.

Our stylist begs us to hold hands, but this is one thing I will not do with a vicious killer. We stand in our spotted-horse chariot awkwardly. I decide to take advantage of this time to watch the Tribute Parade. If there is any hope for me, it lies among the sponsors. People say you need to rely on your natural resources and wits and all, but I don't know many victors who would have lived without their sponsors. The trick is to be attractive. Eye opening. If you appear mysterious, exotic, or unique, sponsors will be drawn to you. Of course, the sponsors that aren't willing to take a chance usually only sponsor Careers anyways. I form a crooked smile as I imagined Isadora with the Careers, all of them with sponsor gifts but her.

The screens here are HUGE. At home we don't even have a TV, so I cannot draw my eyes away from this ginormous one. The District 1 tributes are beautiful once again, wearing capes of flashy feathers encrusted with twinkling gemstones and flowing headdresses. Their snow-white horses trot flawlessly in time with the other and they have huge grins on their faces as they wave to the roaring Capitol crowd.

I take a deep breath. It is now time for District 6 to go on. I stood fixated ahead, my eyes brimming with emotionless emotions. Isadora reaches slowly for my hand, which I drew away sharply. My heart freezes when she scowls, but she doesn't do anything else. We enter the City Circle slowly. Our horses aren't as gallant as District 1's, but they have an amazing pace and soon we catch up behind District 5. The crowd is going nuts, not particularly for us but they see us and we are included in their cheer. My head is spinning from the noise, but I feel a lot better. I turn to smile at Isadora but I gasp loudly when I see her.

Isadora is still smiling and waving with a gleam in her eye, but she is stark naked. Her chariot costume lips in rags at her feet; they look like they were torn off. I'm staring before I realize that she must have torn it off when we entered the City Circle. I swallowed hard. Isadora turned out not only brave, but clever. This was an effective way to get sponsors- the Capitol loves confident, sexy tributes especially the men. She really is a dangerous tribute. I am about to throw up, but I force myself to continue smiling.

She also has done something dangerous. She took off her costume, meaning that it wasn't good enough for her. She had rebelled against her stylist. Does that mean rebelling against the Capitol? If so then she is so dead. But then again I might so dead as well because I am from the same district. I blink away unwanted tears. Why did I have to come from the same district as Isadora?

I will never forget the laughter in her eyes as she beat me today. My district partner will probably end up killing me. Unlike me, she has a chance of winning.

Well, at least if Isadora wins, District 6 will have a winner and my family will have enough food for a year.


	2. District 4 & 5 Reapings and Train Ride

**Author's Note: From now on MOST of the reapings and tributes will be described by _other_ tributes during the train or chariot ride. This way I don't have to write in a pattern and we can get to training scores, interviews, and the actual Games more quickly.**

* * *

District 4 Miracle Unicen, 16

I know we're passing lots of scenery on the train but all I can do is stare back at my reflection. Is there _any_ beauty in me? I wonder. Nearby, a deep voice chuckles. Shit I probably said it out loud.

"What's wrong with you Miracle?" Surge Litill asks between his ridiculous guffaws. "Your name is such an irony. You are positively a disgrace to District 4. I thought they only produced humans there, not fish hybrids."

I open my mouth to retort before our mentor Mackerel cuts in. "Cut it out you two!" he snaps between a mouthful of fried chicken. The food here is phenomenol, no wonder Capitol people need surgeries to keep themselves skinny and healthy. At this I couldn't stop the sobbing noises coming out of my mouth. Surge's wicked grey-blue eyes gleam with glee but he doesn't say anything this time. That is, until Mackerel went to the bathroom and I hear Surge whisper under his breath _fatso_. I resist the tempting urge to turn around and kick him in the nuts. Nobody should speak like that to me!

I've always had enough to eat because my family is well-to-do but that just might be my problem. My mother has always favored my sisters over me because they're prettier and skinnier and better people. She won't admit it but I know that's the case. And my father doesn't like us at all since he's got his sights on my older brother who got enrolled at the Training Academy. It's nothing like 1 or 2's, but they teach you some pretty good stuff. I'd know it better if my parents had allowed me to train there, but the trainers said I was too old. I think they had wanted to say I was too ugly and too fat.

Surge of course is a top graduate. He's eighteen and muscular and an eager volunteer. He's also gorgeous for a freckled redhead, not that there's anything wrong with them. It's just, my father and brother are freckled redheads- nothing too unusual in our District but they both had toned muscles, an athletic body, and handsome features. My older sisters are twins, both with wavy black hair and honey brown eyes. Brown eyes are the least common in our district so they're considered very pretty. My mother and I are the only blonde ones in our family. My mother has long, straight blonde hair that never gets a single loose strand while I get dirty blonde curls that turns frizzy at the touch of water and has stopped growing since it reached my shoulders. I'm also a bit plump, as you call me, and not pretty, with my oversized front teeth, inhumanly enormous nose, furry eyebrows, saggy cheeks bathing in freckle land, and big watery eyes the shade of an undesirable green.

I bet my family was overjoyed when I was reaped. It was so embarassing being on TV with my hideous face and body broadcast live all over the nation. My mother made me wear one of my sister's flower dresses. "It'll look great on you." She was lying and she clearly enjoyed the thought of me looking ridiculous in a tight-fitting dress. But when I was threatened with going in my underwear I went for the dress without a second thought. Hopefully once the Reaping's over I can just go home and lie in bed and eat all of my problems away.

Sadly, as we know, that didn't happen because I was reaped. I walked up confidently because I expected that someone was going to volunteer for me. I mean even thought our district is the weakest of the Careers we still are Careers. Surely somebody would want to volunteer. But it turned out that this year nobody did and so here I was. I swallow another sob. Thinking about the reaping again just makes me want to cry and cry.

"Don't pay any thoughts to Surge," Mackerel says through a mouthful of fried chicken again, snapping me out of my reverie, "He doesn't know what the hell he's doing." At this Surge spins around to face our mentor with his bright, dangerous eyes. "Do you have something against me, old man?" he spats in Mackerel's face.

"I can kill you with pretty much anything so don't get smart with me, boy," Mackerel snarled, pounding his fist on the table (earning a small yelp from me), "I'm simply saying here that you ought to watch your mouth. You got attitude, boy, but save your badass antics for the arena because nobody wants any of your shit here." "Oh believe me I will." Surge winks at me, and I suppress a shudder.

We watch some of the other reapings. The District 5 and 6 females are both beauties even in their distressed states, I noted sourly. I pay attention to the Careers. The District 2, girl I was pleased to see, looked like a man. Her district partner was really hot, but if he wasn't so manly then I would have thought that 2 offered up two male tributes. The District 1 boy seems sly and a little insane. I make a mental note to watch out for him. The 1 girl appeared ditzy and shallow but still stunning. I sigh as I flicked off the TV. At least I had one over District 3. Two over 3. The boy is scrawny and small and the girl has average looks but really thick glasses.

"So?" snapped Mackaerl with impatience. "Do you want to make an alliance with the Careers this year?" Surge grins and nods but I just barely nod. I have a feeling I'm not going to make it far this year and I don't have any training like the others. Plus all the other Careers are intimidating.

"Miracle?" My mentor's tone is gentle. He smells like alcohol and aftershave. He bent down next to me so he could make eye contact with the girl who wouldn't lift her head up. "Do not worry about being a little overweight," Mackerel's sharp breath tickles my ear, "It's often the strongest and those that are not scrawny that win."

When he said that, I glanced up at him. "So...you really think I have a chance?" I asked softly, hopefully. I was expecting him to be encouraging, kind at least. But the last strands of hope breaks in me as he utters a loud laugh. "Nope, only amusing m'self and Surge," he said, throwing an arm over Surge's shoulder, who snickered and bathed in the glory of my distress. "No fatso ever has any chance so you better do what you want to do before your time comes, darling." Mackerel utters a huge burp and falls onto the too-soft sofa. Surge cackles as he reaches for a piece of fried chicken. I just put my head next to the window again and curl up in a ball, hoping that the sound of the train will cover up my uncontrollable sobs.

* * *

District 5 Wizard Karvel Lorrendous, 16

Some may call this an unhealthy obession but I can't really help it if I can't stop staring at my district partner. She is so beautiful and she can't help that, either.

"So?" Our mentor, a young woman with brilliant red hair and a sharp voice, snaps. "Do you have any idea who you want to ally with?"

She grits her teeth as I shake my head. "Boy, I'm going to replay the reapings for you one last time. Just remember it's your life on the line, not mine." With that said and a toss of her hair her finger easily clicks one of the buttons on the remote and the television screen comes to life.

I actually tear my eyes from Lamina Fargo this time to watch some of the reapings.

Boy, the Careers all look tough this year. Hopefully tought enough to get into a fight among themselves during the early days of the Games and kill some of their members quickly because I tell you one thing man: I am scared of that 2 boy. And 1 doesn't look right. Both of them. District 3 is hilarious because the guy pukes on the escort's shoes and she wouldn't move until it was cleaned up all the while screaming like she's being skinned alive. When I see the girl from District 4 I think of roast pig on a platter. I scold myself heavily for this and watch my district reapings. There she is, the beautiful Lamina Fargo with her chest puffed out and head held high. She doesn't burst into tears like some girls do when they are called. Her pretty dark brown eyes shine with determination and her entire body seemed to vibrantly give off some kind of glow. Just beautiful. I secretly feel that she would be even more gorgeous if she smiled- but I love her melancholy expression. It's just so damn pretty and even her small brown curls going off in every direction in her low ponytail matches perfectly with those full ruby lips.

Suddenly the image cuts away to some short guy walking up the stage instead of the beautiful Lamina. I'm screaming every curse word at the TV I know until I realize that the short guy is me. Yup, I see my wavy blonde hair bouncing up and down as I hop onto the stage and grin at the audience. Hey, I can't help it if I'm a happy guy. Don't forget kind of handsome as well. But I don't hold a candle to my babe Lamina.

"Well?" says a clearly tired and bemused voice. My mentor puts her face close to mine. "Who do you want to ally with?"

I reply without hesitation. "Lamina."

The mentor frowns as she ponders this. "I hope you mean another Lamina? Lamina Fargo has already decided she wants to ally with the District 7 girl."

My mouth fell open. "The poet? But why?"

The redhead shrugs. "Why don't you ask her yourself, as you two are clearly sitting three feet away?"

This is clearly awkward. Lamina is looking down at her lap. But when she finally raises her gaze I see the face of a goddess. Oh gods and goddesses, those plump lips were so made for kissing a man...I think I like women more than other men do because I grew up in a family of boys. My mother died after having me, so it was just me and my six bros. Feeding us wasn't a problem for Pa since he's rich and intelligent. My bros and me had been living a pretty carefree life until now. We take life and enjoy it as it comes and goes, that's why none of us fretted too much when I was reaped. So what? I have a chance of living. It's not like I'm from District 12 or something. Ever since I saw her, my mission in life is to woo Lamina Fargo into falling in love with me. Now she's gazing into my clear blue eyes with those warm brown ones of hers...so beautiful...so beautiful...I am getting lost in them...

"Um, are you alright?" Her voice is soft and sweet and musical like a bell. I imagine she is soft to the touch, too. "Um, yeah," I chuckle, running a hand through my hair and messing it up even more, "I was just...thinking about what you said. What'd ya say again?" To my surprise, Lamina didn't breath impatiently like our mentor did. She simply replied to me. "I said, I was thinking of forming an alliance with the District 7 girl because she seems loyal and if you wanted to be allies with me, you are welcome to join our alliance."

This is what I was thinking when she said that: OMIGOSH SHE TOTALLY HAS THE HOTS FOR ME I JUST KNOW SHE DOES! This is what I said in reply to her: "Okay, yeah, cool, thanks. Well, bye see you tomorrow." Lamina turns her beautiful head one more time to look at the setting sun. "Bye," she whispers in a lovely breath.

I walked into my train room getting ready to shower. While I feel the scalding hot water wash over me I imagine hugging and kissing Lamina Fargo to death in the arena.


	3. District 2 & 3 Reaping

District 2 Gash Vulgaw 18

"Hey Ripple you're so dead." I grin as I nudge into my brother, shoving him into two other guys. My brother laughs as he shoves me back. But the guys don't seem too happy. "HEY!"

They turn to glare at us but after eyeing us for a moment they turn around and back away a little giving me and Ripple a reason to smirk.

No one wants to challenge us in our district. Ripple and I are identical twins but I am older by him by a minute and so I have always been the leader. We've been in the Academy since we were two because we're just that good, why deny it, and today I am volunteering for the Hunger Games. Ripple was pretty upset about this as he wanted the honor too and this is his last year, but he was okay with it once I promised him he can pretend to be me sometimes (since we're identical twins). Although...

I frown as I peer at the small brown mark on my shoulder. A birthmark which Ripple lacked. But that's okay, I'll just tell him not to take off his shirt which hid rippling muscles underneath, toned and six packed. Other than that, our dark brown hair, dark eyes, and tan skin are completely alike. But I can just arch my head back in triumph when I come back with more scars.

Hell we were whipped by our parents for running around the Training Center causing havoc when we were small, but those scars are who we are. They are our identity and our trademark. We would be nothing without them. Nothing. They are my district token.

Our Escort is some dude spray painted a neon yellow with bright pink polkadots in his curly black wig and he's wearing these purple lashes that look like feathers. They're giving me a headache and I swear I'll rip them up once I'm on the train. He babbles on and on and I roll my eyes at how stupid he is.

"And now, the female tribute for the 28th Hunger Games..." he dugs a hand into the piles of slips and almost falls in as a huge girl throws herself towards him with her hands waving in the air. "I VOLUNTEER!" she bellows. Immediately after she said that my entire district burst out clapping and cheering. I yawn. In our district volunteering's way too common so why bother. I mean I get the whole honor thing but this girl isn't coming home, even though she's tall and muscular and looks more like a man with her curly black hair, nice even toned skin, glinting dark eyes, and hunchbacked shoulders. Her name is Jave Myselth. I don't hear the rest because suddenly I'm barreling kids out of my way to get to the stage. "You don't even need to bother," I half smile half smirk at Renka, "I volunteer."

"Marvelous!" he beams. "Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes this year, Jave Myselth and...I'm sorry, sweetie, what's your name?"

I curl my hands into fists and spat near his feet. Renka jumped back. How _dare_ he call me sweetie! How. **Dare.** He.

"Gash Vulgaw," I snarl into the mic. Our future Victor- the first victor of my generation of the Vulgaw family will make _arrangements_ with the Capitol about Escorts and their..._futures_.

* * *

District 2 Jave Myselth 15

He's frothing at the mouth when he speaks into the mic I can see it. I've heard of the name Gash Vulgaw before. He's snapped two necks at once in the Academy, the neck of weaklings and ugly ducks. He's got some fine muscles and so does his twin-I don't know the twin's name-but he's not as hot as Gash is even though they both have our district trademark dark hair and dark eyes. My trainer wants me to be like him. To surpass him. And now I have. I've been training since I was three years old and this is my last year. So I have to do this; it's now or never. I won't be another 2 girl beaten by little non-Careers. I just won't. My mother and father said I had to live at the community home if I don't come back as Victor. I'll show them. I'll show them all.

I was going to volunteer last year but my friend Jacy Cunnod did, and she didn't make it. Fucking 6 and 10 for teaming up last year, fuck them. They'll pay. Oh yes the 6 boy and 10 girl will pay a_ good_ price. I whooped and cheered as they were strangled by mutts. I love you, Capitol and for that I'll give you a good show.

I'm gonna get my fucking revenge for my fucking friend by fucking it up in the arena! And to the escort Renka, who wants me to hold his hand? I imagine running my sword through his head. Fuck. Him.

* * *

District 3 Merry Fairbain 16

"Come ON, we'll be late for the Reaping!" I pull my hand away from her as my sister tries to grab hold of it. I shake my head in contempt. "I don't care." I say, continuing to twist the wires around each other.

But I did care and if we were caught late we would be punished. That's why fifteen minutes later, after a lot of dragging and pushing and pulling and pleading, I was running out of my breath as we hurtled towards the Square. I joined the crowd of anxious sixteen-year-olds, just another face in the crowded square of our district. District 3, where everything is as plain as plain can be. Plain clothes, plain emotionals, plain faces. The only thing that's not plain is our life but it's actually ruined by the Capitol. I cannot express my sorrow for the kids picked every year to be forced to fight to the death. I hate the bloody Capitol.

Bloody, hah. How ironic, that's what their Games are and ever will be. They are not a symbol of power and strength, they are a symbol of the darkness inside the human. I've studied pyschology in school a little bit. Our District is the Tech one and all, so most of us are far more intelligent with gagdets than your average tribute. I can use that as my strength if I get picked, I thought.

No! Don't be silly Merry. You won't get picked. You only have five entries out of something three hundred thousand names, right? The odds are definitely in your favour. My sister and I have never taken tesserae. Our family isn't rich like our ancestors used to be before the Uprising but we've always done okay and plus we have brains. So yes, the possibility of death is small.

I try to put on a brave face as our escort Ota finishes talking. I curse under my breath. I've missed her speech! In some sick and twisted way I actually enjoy learning about the history of Panem. Only for knowledge and educational purposes.

"AND NOW FOR OUR TRIBUTES!" Ota shrieked into the microphone, clearly not understanding how delicate it works.

Ota is such an odd name, the accent just makes it this is coming from a girl named Merry. "Merry," I whisper dreamily to no one. The girl standing next to me snickered. I imagine punching her piggy little nose in but decide to retain myself.

"LADIES FIRST! DON'T GET TOO JEALOUS IF YOU'RE NOT PICKED, SWEETHEARTS!" Ota hollers as she digs wildly around in the bowl of names. Our square remains silent. Some people exchange glances. I hold my breath. Maybe if I just...I only need...perhaps...just against all odds...pray...

"PERIWINKLE FAIRBAIN!"

My heart nearly stops as I retain my normal breathing. _That's my sister! _I frantically looked around for her and finally caught sight of her golden head, hands clenched into fists, slowly ascending the steps of the platform. Peri and I have always been best friends, even though she is two years older than me. And now she is going into the Games...this is her last year...she was supposed to be safe after this...everyone was expecting it...Mom and Dad love her too much...I love her too much...

And before I allowed myself to think twice, I screamed "I VOLUNTEER!" All heads and eyes are on me. Our District never has much volunteers. I look at Periwinkle, glassy tears are rolling down her plump cheeks. I swallowed hard. "I volunteer." I repeat in barely a whisper. I have just sealed my doom. Peri's eyes try to catch mine but I remain as expressionless as possible as I shove her out of my way.

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME!" Ota sings in opera. "Merry Fairbain," I whispered hoarsely. Ota's wicked purple eyes gleamed. "WEREN'T YOU THE TRIBUTE I PICKEDD!" OhmyseriousnessIfreakinghate operarightnow. She is so unintelligent and unsophistcated! Periwinkle and I may both have windblown golden curls and bright electric-blue eyes but Peri's at least a foot taller and she doesn't wear glasses.

"No," I say after taking a deep breath, "The tribute you picked was my sister. I volunteered for her."

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN I WILL NOW PICK OUR LUCKY BOYYYYY TRIBTUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_EEEEEEEEEEE_!" I thought my ears would split right there and then on that awful high note. My head is fuzzy and my vision is blurry. My mind is furious. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! it screams at me.

I held my head high in defiance and take more glances at the blue sky. In District 3 we usually have gray skies but today it was an unmistable clear shade of blue. I imagine clouds, raindrops, sweet morning dew, a robin's egg, and my eyes opening and seeing the world for the first time.

One day, things will change. One day we will live in peace with no Hunger Games to worry about. One day. Someday. But not today.

* * *

District 3 Whistle Tanbeezer, 14

The Merry Fairbain girl looked absolutely terrified and helpless when she volunteered for her sister. She kept on doing deep breaths on the platform and pushing her glasses up her nose. I imagine pushing glasses up my nose and accidentally poke myself in the eye. Okay, no more pretend glasses.

But what else do I have? I asked myself darkly. I lived with my older brother and his wife Anita. My mother and father were both killed by Peacekeepers because they were trying to invent a technology to make work easier for the Districts of Panem. Just for that. The Capitol. They're always watching. They always know. Maybe that's why my brother is always depressed.

He won the Hunger Games a couple years ago and he's been depressed ever since. He barely talks to us and hardly gets out of bed. He's been skin and bones ever since the day he came back on the train, smelling like rusty metal and staring at the world with bare, hollow eyes that frighten me so much. It hurts so that he's been taken away from me. He was the kind of brother who would give his own life for yours and who would suppress a watery smile for you if you were down when he just came back home late at night from work. He was a technician before the Games and he made very little money but he always had high spirits and kind eyes. A completely different person came back to Anita and me. My brother's soul had died in the arena, along with twenty three other broken souls. This is what the Capitol do to you and your loved ones.

Even though I lost my brother, Anita's always been kind to me no matter how many times I accidentally put in salt instead of sugar or how much of a mess I made trying to change her baby's diaper. I'm fourteen and I am an uncle. I like being one because Odus is so sweet and gurgly and he smiles a lot at me. He doesn't have any teeth but I don't mind.

Thinking of Odus's innocent smile while looking up at certain doom makes me want to break down. The people related to Victors always get reaped. I am much older than Odus so when he comes of age I will not be able to protect him.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN I WILL NOW PICK OUR LUCKY BOYYYYY TRIBTUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_EEEEEEEEEEE_!" I cringe and almost fall as Ota's ugly, high voice rings out again. It's as ugly and cruel as the Capitol itself.

Her bejeweled hand slips into the ball and I wonder whose poor soul will be tormented this year. Who will be the unluckiest guy in our District to have to-

"WHISTTTLLLLLLEEE TANBEEEEZZZEEEEEEEEEEERRRR!" A flock of birds from a nearby tree flew away as quickly as their wings could carry them.

It takes a while for me to register the name. When I do, my thoughts scramble frantically. Oh it's ME.

I stumbled onto the platform looking for my family. I see my brother, he is finally out of bed but thin as ever and he's staring at me with a deep emotional expressed in his eyes. He is clutching Anita, who is sobbing, and stroking her mousy curls. Odus clutches to his parents' legs. I feel a lump rising in my throat. I am related to a Victor, and I was picked for the Hunger Games. At least Odus is safe. At least Odus is unharmed. I wish I could say the same for me.

"ANNYYYYYYYYY VOLUNTEEERRRRSSS STEEPPPPP UPPPP NOOOOOOOWW!" Ota sang happily, applying a fresh coat of purple lipstick. I stare at my District with empty eyes. Now I know how my brother felt when he volunteered for me. Now I finally understand.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, OUR TRIBUTES MERRY FARTBRAIN AND WHISTLE TANBEEZZZZERRRRRS!" I open my mouth to tell Ota to shut up but instead bend over and vomit all over her shoes.


	4. District 1

**My first ever Hunger Games story; the characters are all original and the relation or similiarity to anybody else is simply a coincidence.** Enjoy!

District 1 Glint Vulture 17

Imagine a muscular tall, handsome young man walking up the stage in all dignity and glory. The ladies can't tear their eyes away. Their boyfriends are jealous with rage but are too cowardly to do anything. The young man grins. He is the best of the best. I am him. I will be him.

The entire Square is packed shoulder-to-shoulder and their thunderous applause ring in my ears as I hurl myself at the stage to volunteer.

I came to the square at dawn before anybody else did. I did it all for the Reaping, all for the Hunger Games. They are my shrine and temple. I would gladly make a sacrifice out of myself just for them. We are soulmates. I am hungry for glory. I am hungry for fame. I ache for the honor of past Victors. I ache for the cheer of my name across districts in Panem.

Most of all I ache to kill.

"What is your name?" The Escort asks me, showing her gleaming white teeth. I show mine right back, crooked and yellow and sharp as daggers.

"Glint Vulture," I smirked, licking my lips. So many hot girls out here waiting for their next victor husband. None of them can live up a rat's ass to my girlfriend though.

I have long forgotten my girlfriend's name but I remember her well. She was a pretty little thing with long raven hair falling into gentle waves and soothing chocolate eyes, different from most of our district. Chocolate. I still lick every piece of them before I go to bed at night. They remind me of her. I want her. I _need_ her. I miss her. I _hate_ her.

She volunteered when she was fourteen and I was fifteen. She wasn't enthusiastic about it (can you imagine how embarrassed I was?), but I warned her that I may break up with her if she humiliated me. Whimpering, she threw herself at the stage and went all giggly and determined, and then was killed in the Bloodbath. So pathetic and weak. I disowned her after that. I mean she is dead but when the wooden box came home I stole it from her parents and took her body into my bathroom where I filled up the tub and watched it float, then chopped the bitch in two and buried her in my backyard. The smell of blood was so strong that day my parents gave me two bars of gold.

And every time I would lick the chocolate she gave me before the Reaping, and laugh and laugh as 5 stabbed her to death. I am going to be mega stinking rich, I think as I squint into the sun.

Today I just volunteered for Hunger Games and when I win I can get all the girlfriends I want. Like I really care, babe, that you're probably snogging a dead bastard right now. Fuck him and fuck you. You're both dead. You meant nothing to me.

I smile to myself as I peek at the glint of the hidden dagger in my belt pouch. Victory is mine.

* * *

District 1 Dazzle Quartz 17

I run a gentle hand through my hair, the long, luscious chestnut curls brushing against my fingers. I sigh and twirl around in my creamy silk dress; the odds are _always_ in my favour.

In District 1 I am one of the rather unique ones. Most people have light blonde hair and blue eyes - I have rich chestnut curls and striking bright green eyes. My mother have always said I am special. And I know it. My prick of a dad tried to have a _little talk _with my sister Velvet after she won her Games-can you imagine anything more disgusting! That's why we kicked him out of the Victor's Village. But it turned out that he played dirty; he was a past Victor as well, he just never told us. He requested to move back in with us and his request was granted. He mistreats us whenever he's around- lucky that he's usually partying or drunk and not at home.

My mother is the best perfumemaker in all of Panem I just know it. I love walking into her perfume shop and sniffing all the delicate bottles. You had these cute little teeny purple blobs to gigantic, clear green barrels loaded with sweet-smelling stuff. Too bad most of them are for the Capitol and not her darling, divine little daughter. But don't be too sweet and worry about me, after I win the Hunger Games I'll get all the perfume I want.

I've decided to volunteer for the Games this year for a number of reasons but the main reason is my father. If I win, and I can win because the odds are _always_ in my favour, we can get a new Victor house and keep him out. I will have even more boys begging to flirt with me than now and I will be famous in all of Panem! The Capitol will simply _adore_ me, I will be rich(er), I will have fans, and I can bathe alone in the spotlight and glory without my sister stepping onstage to steal it. But most of all, my father will be ordered to stay away. A mentor can't stalk another mentor.

Magenta adjusts her hideous green wig and shows her pointed, animal-like teeth at us. She is one of the unusual escorts who picks the boys first (out of respect for the "_gentleman who treat the ladies well_!" Yeah, right, every boy I've been with has cheated on me except for Rhinstone, but I cheated on him so all's fair in love and war). A tall and muscular boy comes barreling out and throws himself at the stage with a hungry look in his eyes. I perk up when his name is announced.

Glint Vulture was my ex-best friend's boyfriend. I say ex friend because she died, and it would be embarrassing to have a dead person be your friend. Right? So anyways this Glint guy was always the center of attention at the Academy. He was handsome, with neat light blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, but that was way too common in our District. I think his muscles spoke a lot for him because he's been training since he was nine. I started training when I was twelve years old. Most of our tributes start at seven or eight or nine. I started at twelve because I had mastered modeling outfits of my mother's and because I was said to be way too talented for normal. Once I started, I got a tall, amazing body and now boys are tripping over themselves for me. Rhinestone will be so jealous when the Capitol loves me. They will I just know they will.

So when the freaky Magenta asks for volunteers for the girls, I am already at the stage screaming "I VOLUNTEER!" She beckons at me to come up and I do very quickly. I look directly into a camera and smile and wave.

"Hi, my name is Dazzle Quartz! I am from District 1 and I am very beautiful. I will be your next Victor so you should just practice loving me already!"

At this the square bursts into loud applause and laughter; I grin at the grim and jealous faces of girls whom I beat to volunteering and this was their last year, the admiring faces of students in training, and the dazed gazes of the boys that have been flirting with me. Magenta smiles at me and starts to say stuff I don't know because one moment I'm blowing a kiss and the next I'm fainting into a dreamlike bliss.


	5. District 7 Reaping and Chariot Ride

District 7 Pliny Bellwood, 17

The sky is such a clear ocean of blue that it almost looks real. It reminds me of deep blue skies back home that I could just drown into. The swift grasses would roll and the soft breeze would sing a pure melody. And the world would be lovely.

Is it too much to wish for, that perhaps the Capitol might be lovely in some way? I don't see loveliness in the Hunger Games, but I do have to admit they are a clever symbol of war and power. Only war. Destruction. No peace or happiness. This thought alone is enough to bring tears shimmering into my eyes. They come in and flow out so soon like the rain back home.

Yes, it was soggy and wet and muddy, but the air was so fresh and the mood vibrated with sweet earth smells. I remember running down the hill into the forest at dawn and playing hide-and-seek with the trees, greeting hello to the birds, and singing to all my woodland friends before the world woke up. How I wish I could turn back time to return to my childhood days. Now that I am seventeen years young in a life that's about to end.

I keep hoping that this would be an awful dream, and when I wake up I would see sunlight streaming through my windows and hear birds chirping outside my hut. My small kin of my grandparents and younger brother reside in a cottage deep within the forest, away from the loudness of our district. People expect us to be lonely, but when we have each other and a forest brimming with life, who could ever be unhappy? We gather fruits, greens, nuts, and berries which are very nutritious and enough to live on. I have never touched meat before in my life. The very thought of killing and eating poor, precious little creatures from heaven! We learned to grow our own food and to make our own tools. A life of isolation has transformed me from a shy girl into a sensitive, dreamy poet. I used to see the world as a blunder, as a mishap, but now it means so much more. Life means so much more, and the Capitol is too shallow to realize it. For that reason alone they have specklings of my pity.

I don't exactly know why, but my costume for the Tribute Parade reminds me so much of our cottage back home. It wasn't much, wasn't rich, but to me it meant the world. It sat nearby a pretty bubbling stream which sang for us everyday. It was weaved with wreaths and garments of flowers and it looked like an enchanted misfit out of the earth. It was a snug little mushroom cap and it'll always be home to me no matter how far away. I'm just not used to this Capitol fancy, but I do like my costume. It is a top and a skirt. The skirt is leathery brown and has patterns of tree trunk skin weaved into it-absolutely marvelous. The top is poofy and billowing and green and soft enough to believe that it is made out of tenderwood leaves themselves. My soft auburn curls have been left down, only within are sprinkled with golden glitter and shiny flowers and sweet mint leaves. If I do say so myself, this is the best thing I have ever worn.

It doesn't matter that very few people in the crowd are cheering for us- I'm happy to be who I am, a poet from District 7. I don't believe in killing, murder, or any type of horror we are about to be forced into that will test the limits of our sanity and soul. I know that my heart will remain pure of any evil in the arena but it grieves for my district partner. He hasn't spoken a word since the awful, quiet reaping where once again volunteers are a mere myth. But he volunteered for his (I daresay) friend. I wonder if he is okay. I wonder how he is taking this. He looks so nervous and embarrassed, trembling in his tree dress next to me. He looks like he can scarcely breathe. I think that he might have been through something in his life that makes him afraid to close his eyes. Poor thing, even looking at the emotion displayed in his eyes, his wonderful warm brown windows into the soul, look broken and lost.

It dispenses an uneasy feeling in my stomach to know that other tributes and the Capitol will take advantage of this. And it makes me ashamed of the entire human race.

* * *

District 7 Axford Maple, 13

Perhaps it is the skirt I am forced to wear or maybe the splinter that has been stuck in my finger but I don't feel too good. In fact, I feel horrible. I am going to die and nobody can save me.

My mother is old and sick right now and probably dying. She needs company and she needs somebody to take care of her. I don't love my mother since she married my deseased father for money but I can't just leave her like this. I know I shouldn't have volunteered but my friend needed help. He was so nice-he didn't deserve to be sent to his death. He even promised to take care of my sick mother. And then in the dreaded Justice Building he told me his little game. He wasn't going to take care of my mother for me. He was going to train himself for next year's Games and he was so glad I fell for his little act and volunteered for him, because another year means more training for him. Then he told me he'll enjoy watching me die and there'll be nobody left to bury me when I come home in a box because my mother will be long dead.

"And if she isn't, I'll make sure she is," he had cackled as he ran out of the room. I spent the entire train ride in distress, crying and feeling sorry for myself. But of what use was that? I swore to myself that if I win, I will come home and give my "friend" a good beating. Pliny Bellwood is such a nice girl- she was very softspoken but she had a nice voice and it calmed me down. Then she recited poetry- most of them she made up, some of them from ancient poets like Emily Dickinson or Robert Frost. Each one held a special, deep meaning and they were absolutely beautiful; they even made our escort and mentors cry. Even if I die as a bloodbath I'll be content hearing the poem erupt from Pliny's voice again in my head.

My heart breaks even more because I realize I loved Pliny. I didn't believe in love at first sight and I certainly don't as of now. But how can one describe their feelings if they suddenly wanted Pliny to stay safe, survive the Hunger Games, go home, and have a good life? How do I explain wanting her by my side every minute, hearing the soft croon of her voice as it engulfs me in a deep sense of life? I would be distressed to see her hurt. Pliny in pain would simply break me. Her joy is my heaven. Her song is the highlight of my soul. I would gladly live up my life for her. I am so grateful for what she did for me. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than she. Never heard a lovelier voice, or have seen such a magnificent personality. Her shiny, dark brown eyes are simply breathtaking and the soul behind them is even more beautiful. It's wrong on so many levels, because Pliny is four years older than me and we are going into the Hunger Games and I am going to die and I am poor and useless and Pliny is just too amazing for me to even become friends with.

I made it my mission to see to it that Pliny returned home safe and sound. I'm not going to live through the Hunger Games, so why not give up life for someone who deserves it? I would rather see Pliny, healthy and beautiful and alive, return home with hope for my district than myself returning home and gaining revenge on my "friend". Throughout my short life, I've learned two important lessons. One: Be glad karma is a bitch and is out to get your "friend". Two: Love is more powerful than hatred.

* * *

I certainly would love to see some feedback! I was thinking of taking down the story if nobody is reading it...how do I know you're reading it if you're not reviewing? I tried to make every tribute as unique as possible without going too out of character so the Games will be more interesting. It feels like I'm speaking to myself here and it is a very lonely feeling. I'll be grateful forever if you review! Forever grateful!


	6. District 8 Reapings and Opening Parade

District 8 Ajay Roleen 18

Succulent, sweet crabs. They all walk on the beach in a straight line, pinching their little claws. I didn't want to be left behind, so I mimicked them. I skidded sideways while pinching my claws every once in awhile. I thought I was doing a great job until the sun came out, and the sun asked me "Ajay, what do you think you are doing?" And I replied, "I'm following my crabs into the water. I don't want to be left ashore." And then the sun said, "Go to your room." And I did, but I didn't like the sun anymore.

Actually, I don't know if I actually liked the sun in the first place. It had soft yellow hair, crystal blue eyes, and a pretty face, but it was always bossing me around. The sun is not a crab so why should it have the right to boss me? That's what I'm going to tell the sun next time, I think as I toss and turn in my bed trying to find a comfortable position.

Tumba told me to vovunveer and I did. I don't know what it means, but I think it means you move to another place and play with other kids. I said okay since I liked kids and they liked me back home. But so far I haven't seen any kids on this trip, except for the sun. But the sun is way too mean to be a kid. I wonder if mam-pa and dam-pa count as kids? I do see them sometimes.

My mam-pa and dam-pa always come to visit me at night. I've asked them why they come only at night, why they never come in the day but I guess they come when they please because that's just the way it is. And we move on cart things from one place to another because that's just the way it is. I don't really know how or why I know mam-pa and dam-pa, I've just known they've always been there for me when I need them and for that I'm grateful. But everytime I say thank you, they're gone, and when they come back, they would give me something new to think about. I like mam-pa and dam-pa, but they're always so sad. Dam-pa has nice smiles but he should stop pretending to be happy, and mam-pa always has those sparkling dewdrops in her eyes. I wonder if it's because of me? If it is, I have no idea what I've done so wrong, but I wish they'd tell me so I can fix it for them.

* * *

District 8 Dalphina Hackle, 13

My name is Dalphina Hackle. I'm thirteen years old. I was reaped for the Hunger Games. And my district partner is a total wackjob. Not trying to be rude or anything, just sating the obvious. And it's _obvious_ Ajay Roleen will win. _Oh_.

The first time I met Ajay, he really freaked me out. We were on the train going to the Capitol and I was just admiring its luxury when Ajay crept up behind me and asked me if I had seen this clan. Clan of what? I had asked. Crabs, he had replied, and then I thought he was nuts.

It turns out that he has a tumor in his brain affecting his mind and voice. His parents are dead, so he has always been an orphan being raised in a community home. Nobody ever really talks to him there because they think he's some sort of raging lunatic. He can't read or write. He's afraid of being alone. I felt bad telling him to go to his room, but I just want him to be comfortable and snug and safe. Well, safe as he can get before the Games, anyways. I'm going to try to protect him all I can. In the end I would still like to get back to my used-to-be-happy-now-grieving-for-me-family because I have a family and I love them and they love me, but if I can't survive then I would Ajay would. Whether I can give up my life, everything I've done and everything I am, for him I don't know. The only thing I am sure of is that I don't want him to die. He doesn't deserve it.

It was cruel of the matriach at the community home to tell Ajay to volunteer. This was his last year, and he could've had an okay life. But the stupid woman made him throw it all away by telling him to volunteer for this twelve-year-old. It was a handsome hero deed for sure, but tricking almost-safe eighteen year olds who can't think like normal people into sending themselves to death is just sick. This is why my family will no longer donate money to that matriach. Sure, we'll still give to those in need. But not this. This is too cruel. Even our mentors said so. One of them doesn't talk, just stares at us with sad eyes. The other one babbles a mile a minute, discussing strategies and alliances.

Well, I want to take care of Ajay but he certainly is a handful. It's a good thing he's sweet and handsome, with brown mousy curls and embedded blue eyes like two dead diamonds and a face full of freckles. But he's eighteen and I'm only thirteen. I'm just a child. How can I ever take care of someone when I can't even care for myself? It breaks my heart as I explain to my mentors how I cannot ally with Ajay. The staring mentor just buries his head in his hands. The talkative one, for once, doesn't say a word, but nods with sympathetic eyes.

The Tribute Parade could've gone better, but it also could've gone worse. Ajay and I are stuffed into Capitol fashion, which something Ajay found exciting. I overheard his prep team complaining about his inability to stand still, and couldn't help snickering. At least this will help him in the arena.

And the Capitol clothes, wow. Ajay wore a blue leotard complete with cool black flame designs to make it look like it's melting, and he had a face full of glowing blue makeup and a white headdress that put a horse's delicate head to shame. As for me, I wore a complex, frilly design of pink ruffles and a long purple wig complete with piggy curls and enough ribbons to feed lace for a year. Back home, if someone says "enough ribbons to feed lace for a year", that means there is plenty of it to go around. I miss home, but then again, who doesn't? And it's so nice coming from the textile district. I mean, sure, the District 1 tributes were beautiful, and 2 had magnificent black horses clopping the pair of iron-clad tributes inside, but 3 was very, very unfortunate, 4 had glittering scales glued to their bodies, 5 both had neat glasses and billowing lab coats, the girl in 6 stripped off her lame costume, and 7 both wore dresses. Since 8 is in Capitol fashion, the crowd will likely sympathize with us...right?

And I am right as the cheers of the crowd bring pleasure to my ears, and I turn and see that Ajay is also smiling. He looks the happiest I've seen him...since the first time I met him today.

Our rooms are wide and luxurious here in the capitol; the tributes living quarters are luxurious as the trains themselves. The city lights of the Capitol makes me ashamed of our dirty, crumbling gray buildings back home.

I am sitting on a big, comfy couch, watching the Opening Ceremonies again when I feel droplets of sweat prickle my neck. How awful. I had just taken my first shower today and I was feeling so clean.  
I wipe the sweat off my neck with my shirt and then wince as I feel more sticky sweat appearing on my back. I am a heavy believer of karma and I think it might kick me in the butt for leaving Ajay's life for my own. But it's his life, I decided sourly, desperately trying to convince myself, You've been kind, Dalphina. You have your own life and your own loving family as well. Not everyone has what you have at home. Home is so far away. That's why you need to win. You need to come back to your old, wonderful life. Nothing will ever frighten you again. And for that to happen, everyone else must...not.


	7. District 9 Chariot Ride UH OH!

District 9 Pixi Blaze, 16

I remember staring out at the world whirling by, so near me and yet becoming distant at the same time. My nose had been pressed against the glass, and my reflection was far too close for my liking. I mean, I don't think I'm hideous or anything, with my short gold hair in a pixie cut, wide-set blue eyes dotted with little blonde flecks, and heavily freckled nose. It's just that I'm really tall and gangly and skinny so I think I might be in for it in the arena. _But I'm tough, _I reminded myself. _I've always been. I've just got to be tough in the arena._

My sister certainly will be tough- for the rest of my life. She's still pissed that I didn't volunteer for her a few years ago. Well I'm sorry, but she was older than me and I didn't want to die a terrible death! Besides, she won. The arena was a desert hot springs, complete with spiky palm trees and bubbling hot tubs which were quicksands of death. A flaming sun and freeze-to-death night eliminated many of the tributes. My sister won by hiding behind a sand dune all time. When it came down to two Careers and both of them were injured badly, she jumped out and hit them both with poisoned cactus pieces. It was a very narrow victory, and I can see that it broke many parts of Sowria. But she's well and alive and famous today so that's all that matters. And she wanted me to volunteer for her! So selfish. And now that she's won, she acts all cold and snobby towards me. Like it was my fault I didn't want to be sent to my death. In a twist of fate, here I am, being sent to my death.

The Reapings this year wasn't as awful as last year's. I mean last year you had this wispy boy who could barely stand up fall facefirst into a puddle of mud before coming on stage and this girl who wouldn't stop crying and had no words unstuttered. At least I tried to keep my chin up as the Escort bellowed my name. She even congratulated me upon being the sister of a Victor, something I had no desire to be brought up ever again. Now I'm dressed in a dress made of what looks like a million little grains of sand- District 9's industry is grain, so that makes sense. It tickles, and I feel very uncomfortable. My stylist couldn't stop staring at my chest- I swear he had a wicked gleam in his indigo eyes. The last thing I need is a pervy man who designs all my clothes. My sister had him-he made her look like she hated clothing. And I love clothing.

Of course in District 9 we don't get too many choices but whenever I have an allowance I go to the market and shop for any. I can't seem to resist the temptation to wait or to spend. What if that will be gone by the time you've made up your mind? Just get it over with now and be happy later. That's my motto. Yup. Name's Pixi Blaze.

My district partner is the weirdest person I've ever met. If not for that poor District 8 guy I would've thought that he was mental. He is mentally disturbed, I'm pretty sure. When the Escort called him up he leapt onto the stage on all fours, eyes gleaming too bright, grin stretched too wide. He hugged the Escort, who giggled and blushed, and then shook my hand vigorously up and down. He was smiling, but I had a feeling he wasn't trying to be friendly. I make a mental note to be wary and stay clear of him in the arena. There are a few other tributes I must also be aware of. Obviously the Careers, but there's something in the District 5 boy's eyes, which had been locked on his district partner ever since she had been called, reminds me of the way my stylist had looked at me. It makes me shudder. That girl has such a sweet, innocent face. _But innocent faces can be deceiving. Don't trust anyone, _I remind myself.

"When can we go in?" whines my lovely district partner, prancing about. "I have to go to the bathroom!" My mentor, my sister Sowria, narrows her small green eyes. "Keep still and be quiet."

"In other words, shut the hell up and stop being a jackass, Crunch." grunts Asfol, the mentor of my district partner, a balding man in his late twenties. Crunch narrows his hazel eyes. "Or what? You can't kill me Baldie." And just like that- Astol reached out a hand and slapped him. "I will. Don't think I'll send sponsors to you, boy," he spat and then walked away. Sowria tosses back her head, laughing coldly. "Well, my friend, you're screwed." She claps a hand on my shoulder and her gaze pierces mine. "And don't screw yourself up, itty Pixi," Sowria smirks, "You don't want to end up like this asshole here." Crunch tries to spit on her but she simply dodges and walks away.

I stand there awkwardly with him, unsure what to do, when our horses suddenly started to trot by themselves. We enter the crowded, roaring City Circle. I don't bother to look up; I'm too self conscious about me being stuffed into a pile of grain. Crunch, on the other hand, is dancing from his left foot to his right and waving and blowing kisses and wolf-whistling and licking his fingers. It churns my stomach to think I have to share a tribute floor with him, but it makes me feel better that he's also stuffed into food with me. When I finally gain a little confidence, I raise my hand to wave at the crowd. Some of them wave right back, while others pretend to send kisses at me. I blow the kisses right back and they catch them. It's actually quite pleasing after a while. But suddenly, the entire circle goes silent. I freeze. Did I do something wrong?

I look to my right. I look to my left. I glanced up, unsure. And then I look down, and I had my answer. No, I did not do something wrong. Crunch did. I feel weak at the knees as the crowd starts cheering and roaring again, louder than before. I want to close my eyes. I want to scream. I want to fade away. I want to...die.

I am standing as the 6 girl was, in front of all of Panem, with Crunch grinning at me as he waves my dress triumphantly at the bellowing crowd.

* * *

District 9 Crunch Wagner, 17

A very angry girl confronted me when we were walking back into the Tribute Building. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT! HOW DARE YOU! I'LL HAVE YOU FOR THIS! YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET EVERY BEING BORN, YOU ABSOLUTELY, SICK, _DISGUSTING_-"

"Now, Pixi, we don't want to disturpt any other tributes," Sowria said, trying hard to keep the smirk off her face and failing horribly. Pixi turns to her mentor sister with tears in her eyes. "How can this be funny to you! You were supposed to be there for me, not laughing at me as I was humilated by a pervert in front of all of Panem!" She's sobbing hard now and buries her head inside her hands. Geez, I didn't mean to go that far. I only wanted the Capitol to love me. I only wanted sponsors, I think sadly. Back home, nobody wanted me. Nobody loved me. I was just another orphan at the community home. I don't even have a mentor sister, as Pixi does. Pixi should be grateful she knows her parents. Some people dont.

I grew up facing hardship. I'm not saying she hasn't, but she's never worried about a next meal. And all the other kids were being loved and getting friends and getting adopted while I remained there for seventeen years. I was so happy to get reaped. Even if for not a good reason I was so happy that somebody actually wanted me, wanted my presence for once. So I danced. I smiled. I laughed. I wanted to be fun and funny. I want to show everyone that they were wrong about me. I _am_ friendly. Now that I've screwed up I know it'll take a miracle to get sponsors and to gain anybody's trust. Panem thinks I'm a perv. But aren't all guys pervs?

Aren't all girls pervs? Aren't all of us monsters on the inside? And do we just not want to show it, for fear of being mocked and humiliated as I am?

I decided that later at dinner, when Pixi spilled her ice-cold drink on me and then punched me in the face, when my mentor chews me out, that I am going to be just like every other horrible excuse for human beings.


	8. District 10, 11 and 12 Chariot Rides

District 10 Brunu Rothwheat, 18

I see my district partner standing across from me, staring out into nothing. Tall structure, heavily freckled nose, unappealing olive-green flecks in big, round hazel eyes, and a bushel of frizzy ginger hair. Which fits someone with the name Ginger Baltoy. She's trying to look intimidating and attractive at the same time but in both skills she's failing horribly. At least to me. I don't like girls who look like men or who have looks on their faces that read "Talk to me and I'll skin you alive".

Ginger has been really quiet since the Reaping, like the scary kind of quiet. Our escort Maggie staggered on stage in her ridiculous thirteen-inch heels and tripped so many times that our reaping took forever. Not that I'm complaining. _As long as I won't get picked, I won't complain,_ I had thought during the thing. But it wasn't easy. The baking sun was glaring at our backs and necks-mine was exposed. And I did get picked. So I get to complain after all. Complain, complain, complain.

Me. I'm a big guy of six foot. I come from a family of a dad and two twin sisters. They hardly pay any attention to me. Treat me like their slave. I bet they're just loving the fact I was reaped, aren't they?! They think I'm dead already. They're not giving me a chance to prove myself. They never have. Well fate has given me a chance. A chance I would've never accepted first but now that I think about doesn't seem so bad. After watching the reapings, all the threats I see are the Careers, my district partner, and maybe the confident District 6 girl. The 11 girl didn't seem so weak but she was very small. Other than that, I think I might stand a chance. Actually, I know I stand a chance, after seeing the District 5 and 7 girls.

I have large beaver teeth, giant hands, giant muscles from working on the farmland all my life, and the same head of red fuzz as Ginger's. Red hair's not uncommon in District 10. The thing that are uncommon are Victors.

District 10 has only had one victor ever since the start of the Hunger Games-the 7th Hunger Games. And the scrawny brunette girl that won the Games died last year because of another disease from the animals, this time the chickens. So the Capitol hired a lunatic to be the mentor for District 10. Like they pity us. Like we need their pity.

Kazme, a large, bony woman with a mane of flowing yellow-green hair and the same yellow-green orbs, rubs her hands with excitement. "I'm so glad they picked me to be the mentor for you!" she beams at us, the scales on her face quivering and threatening to fall off. "I promise I won't let you down, and if you don't let me down, one of you will be the mentor for next year!"

Hearing her say that almost makes me _want_ to lose. Who would want to mentor two kids being sent to their deaths? Not me, and Ginger looks like she doesn't seem too keen of the idea either.

Our stylist is another idiot. Since your parade costume is supposed to have something to do with your district's industry, and since I come from the district of cattle, he has dressed Ginger in a milkmaid costume (which is not as bad as others) and me in a chicken costume. A _chicken_ costume. A freaking _chicken_ costume!

The crowd is completely silent, except for a few claps of polite applause and some halfhearted laughter. But other than that, nothing. I grit my teeth, fists clenched at my side. Beside me, Ginger's face turns nearly as red as her hair. She's sneering. I don't blame her.

The crowd seems to warm back up once District 11's chariot pulls into view. I see them on the jumbo screen looking a million times better than Ginger and I do. I remember 11 from the reaping. Both had the traditional dark skin and features of their district, but that's where the similarities stop. The guy was even bigger than me. I think he's half-giant with his height and muscles. He was emotionless during the Reaping and has never batted an eye to anything. The small, skinny, pretty girl had sharp features and a cunning face. She's hard to miss, unlike Ginger and me. This whole thing probably cost us all the sponsors!

I am so angry that I see the color red. My vision is blurring and my head vibrating. Nobody humiliates me like this and gets away with it. If the stylist and the escort and the mentor were put into the Hunger Games, I wouldn't hesitate a second to kill them. Then again, maybe I won't hesitate to kill anybody in the arena. I had slaughtered pigs, cows, chickens, and sheep guiltlessly before. It was time to step it up a level-to humans.

* * *

District 11 Basinzin Acradill, 17

I don't make effort to hide my guffawing at how incredibly stupid District 10 looks. Before, I had been slightly insecure about my own costume as a farmer with overalls (although the sun hat was rather cute), but after seeing District 10, I gain immediate confidence. There are jumbo screens in the City Circle! _Seriously_.

I nudge my huge partner, whose name is Spider Rowthe or Rowthe Spider or something, and once he bends down next to me, I whisper in his ear, "Looks like 10 has their work cut out for them." I expected him to grin and laugh along with me, but he just shrugs and gets back up.

I growl under my breath. Who does this big brute think he is, ignoring _me_? He's my freaking district partner and we're supposed to be working together! But screw that, he can die for all I care. He's just another obstacle in my way of getting back to my district.

What's the shit about returning home anyways? In my district, the Peacekeepers are strict and the mayor treats you like crap. If you're not bent over backwards working or dying from heat in the sun then you're either dying or being whipped to death. And if you're not any of those things, you're slowly starving to death.

I guess that's better than death in the arena though. Hell, how can you live if you die? Exactly. When I go home I'm going to go kill the retard who almost volunteered for me but her bitch of a mother stopped her just in time. I wouldn't even be here right now-it could been the retard who was forced to fight to the death. What's to another retard's death anyways? Makes our jobs easier since we don't need to look after them anymore. Besides, my life has way more meaning in it than any of them. My mom and dad are the coolest Peacekeepers. One time they even let me help them whip someone! Too bad that old fart died only after 5 whips. I relished the power I held. Too bad being a Peacekeeper's daughter means you have to work anyways.

I'm lucky I'm so small and skinny. I wouldn't want to be a hunchback or a sweatburger like the other losers of my district. My job is to climb the trees and pick the fruit off high branches. This has enabled me with strong agility and flexibility. It's mostly the little kids who do that, but sometimes their small sweaty hands can't get a firm grasp and they fall down to their deaths. Pretty pathetic, but oh well, more fruit, more money for me.

I'll get sponsors for sure, I think as I look around. The crowd was so happy to see us-thanks to District 10's horrible debut, we must've grabbed a couple of sponsors. I don't understand why people underestimate us-but that will change soon when they see me in the Games.

_May the odds be _ever_ in your favor_, I thought as the chariots come to a stop and I give my huge district partner a smirk.

* * *

District 12 Pomper Nikkel, 12

I glance up, swallowing hard as the chariots come to a stop. The night sky glittered with twinkling stars, but they were too bright as everything in the Capitol was. The anthem has stopped playing and the now the whole of the crowd roars as President Snow steps onto the main balcony that overlooks City Circle. He holds up a hand and the crowd immediately falls silent. Every single one of their outfits seem to be glowing as the Capitol citizens lean forward, drinking all this in.

The president has pale fair hair and two electric, beady-blue eyes on a sly face worn with too many wrinkles for his age. Back home in the Seam I remember when some really young, really weak kids starve, they get tons of wrinkles even though their age was a single digit number. Those kids died very quickly, almost immediately. Whenever I passed one of them sitting near the sewers or leaning against the wall, eyes barely open as they huddled against what's left of their family, clinging onto life for just a bit longer, I would always quicken my steps. It sickens me to this day and I would often despise myself for it, but what am I to do? I'm just a twelve-year-old boy who was unlucky enough to be reaped at my first Reaping.

I hated how when I staggered on up there the Escort, Malaysia Trinket or something grabbed one of my cheeks and squeezed. She had patted my head and said, "Aren't you cute, congratulations on being in the Hunger Games!" If we weren't on live TV, I'd have swatted her hand and made a run for it. But they would probably find me, TV or no TV. They would probably find my family. And I can't let that happen. I love them too much.

In my district I'm a nobody. Actually, we're all nobodies to Panem, but even in my district my family is considered the lowest of the low. Nobody says anything out loud, but everyone knows that marriage between the two different classes is discouraged. It's not a crime, but once you do it, your people and their people treat you differently, like a stranger, and speak in colder tones. My father is from the Merchant class of District 12. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, the Merchant look, and some of the Merchant money his father left him. He trades and he can afford to not be hungry. My mother is from the Seam, and has the Seam look, dark hair and grey eyes. They met at a black market for trade, called the Hob, something started a couple years ago. Long story short, love, marriage, me. Mother moved in to Father's house after they had gotten married.

Some of the Merchants are nice, but some believe that my mother had seduced my father and was only after him for money/a home in the nicer part of town. And I didn't make it any easier. I came with blonde hair, olive skin, and grey eyes. The Merchant kids and adults treat me as some sort of monster, misfit, stranger.

"How dare that Seam wench..."

"Who do they think are..."

"Their child is absolutely repulsive! That's a bastard child, I tell you!"

"What would his parents think...?"

But my parents' parents are dead. My parents are all I have. I am all they have. And I have let them down.

From the way my mother looked at me in the Justice Building, I had wished I was never born. Then I wouldn't have been reaped, wouldn't have destroyed her life like this. My father had carried her crying form out. Then he came back in and grasped my hands, looked me in the eyes, and wished me farewell, the best of luck. He hugged me and patted my hair and told me how blessed he was to have a son like me.

After left, I felt like crying as well. He acted like I wasn't going to come back. I'm probably not. But maybe I am. Whatever goes, I will go down with dignity.

I am drowning out the world, until my district partner nudges me back into reality. I blink, looking back up at the President, who smiles and finishes his speech with, "Goodnight, and Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be EVER in your favor!"

As the crowd cheers, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. The ride back to the Training Center is much quicker than our entrance, which probably wasn't the best but maybe gained us a couple sponsors. I was dressed as a mining lamp, which really isn't as bad as it sounds. My body was coated with gold dust that shimmered in the night and a light bulb was placed on my head, making me stand out. Phelephine Ashir, my district partner, had a neat costume as a pickax. Her hair was put into a side ponytail and spray painted gray, as was her face. Her simple black unitard made her look sturdy and strong. Phelephine was somebody back at home. Daughter of the one of the richest merchants, she always had enough to eat. Her family has always been rude to me, including her as well.

Now, considering the situation we're in, well, that's a bit ironic, don't you think?

When we got out of our chariots, our mentor hurries over with a huge, hopeful smile on his face. "You two did great!" He says in an almost trembling voice. "Keep it up for the games!"

_Yeah, _I think as Phelephine shoots me a dirty look, _Easy for you to say. _

* * *

**I've always imagined President Snow to be around 91 at the end of Mockingjay, so I'm going to base his age on that. **

**So I've decided to continue this story, if anybody's still reading it. I've tried to make something memorable about each district's tribtues. Each tribute of course is unique; the ones that have not gotten POV's will get their own POV soon enough. I did it this way to speed up the Reaping (because nobody wants to write 24 reapings when they can be writing other stuff!) and I will be doing this for the Interviews. **


End file.
